


Mother Dear

by Venticelli



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Freak Show
Genre: Gen, Mourning, Other, death mention, mother - Freeform, mothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:19:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3927874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venticelli/pseuds/Venticelli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twisty coming to terms with the fact that his mother is gone and the fact that he didn't get the chance to say goodbye to her. He mourns not only the loss of her but the support and love he had hoped to find in her when he came home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother Dear

_Gone. Gone, gone, gone_ …oh, this wasn’t happening. It couldn't possibly be true. Surely his luck could not be so very horrendous, so very cruel. Everything that had happened was bad enough, and he had felt the strain of it all bending and straining him to the point where he thought that he was nothing but a twisted shell of himself, brittle and easily broken. But this was nothing that he could have ever prepared him for. He had always thought that when all else was stripped away from him that she’d always be there for him to go to. The one person he knew would always have soft, kind, words for him and who didn’t call him stupid or worthless. Wouldn’t call him the awful things other carnies believed of him now.

No, she wouldn’t have believed it because Mama knew her son wouldn’t do such terrible awful things. But now, he was his only advocate, and no one wanted to believe him. And he was alone. Horribly tired and scared and alone.

Oh, he wished she was there to comfort him now, but no, Mama was dead, and that was one thing that was something he couldn’t fix. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. This shouldn't have been it at all. Parents were supposed to be these immortal beings, always there for you in your time of crisis whether you were three years old or eighty. Mortality? The man could hardly wrap his mind around the concept. He knew logically that this would happen, but he’d always thought that he’d be by her side at the end to make sure she was comfortable and that he got to say to her all that he needed to say.

That’s not what had happened though. He’d been away, and she’d been alone. It was the curse of not having a stable address for years. You missed _so much_. He thought back and wondered what would have been different had he been home. Could he have cared for her so that she would have lasted longer? How would the pain of losing her feel different if he had taken the time to be by her side throughout the difficult journey that was moving on from life to death. Oh, how those thoughts plagued him and clawed up his heart, still raw from receiving the news from an old neighbor.

How weathered and strained that old man had looked. Had his dear, beautiful, mother begun to look like that as well? Had death himself started to pull away at the vitality and life he had seen in her when he was a boy, leaving her eyes empty and blurred with cataracts like the infinitely aged man next door? The man's eyes burned at the very thought of it until he had to run from his old neighborhood and back out to the safety and comfort of the woods where his bus remained, ignoring the dents and the rust colored smears across the walls.

He’d pounded the sides of his bus with his fists until they bled when he’d found out, his stomach aching from sadness and grief. He had hoped it would make him feel better, but all it had done was make him feel worn that much more aware of his loneliness.

Eventually, he’d just leaned against the side and slid down onto the ground and sat there trying to sort it all out. He played happy memories on repeat in his mind in hopes that he would be able to soothe himself, but nothing worked. Eventually, he succumbed to his weariness of heart and mind, falling asleep on the cold ground with his back against cold metal, knuckles bloodied, and pants covered in dirt.

And now, again, having come back from his childhood home he wanted to slip back into that great unconsciousness that had swallowed him up so wholly before because it was only then that he knew he would not grieve for he would be lost in the endless darkness where he knew his dear mother now resided.


End file.
